Read more poems by Ron Rash: Ron Rash Poems at Poetry X.
Three days searchers worked below rock-leaps her feet had not bridged, men trolling grabbling hooks through suck hole and blue hole, bamboo poles jabbing the backs of falls before the high sheriff told her folks there was but one way, so Jake Poston came, his poke bulging with a snapper's weight, its head a jawed fist, mossed shell big as a washpan, fishhook deep-barbed in the webbed back foot, the shank's eye knotted with line thick as guitar string. He kicked it off the bank, let out line like a leash as the snapper wandered river floor, then stopped, and Jake just nodded, the men wading on in. No one spoke of the gashes in her throat, or of why he hadn't cut that line afterward, had slung thirty pounds of turtle on his back, headed downriver to the cabin where no wife set his table, where no meat yet simmered in the kettle.
Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 19 May 2013 6:42 PM | Viewed: 2881 times